All Winds Are Quiet As The Sun
by XenaDragon-xoxo
Summary: A year after the events involving Angela Mulholland, Dr. Styles still spends all his time in his lab, and Sam is still working on earning Daedalus Club membership while trying to squash a growing crush on her reclusive employer. But when strange things begin to happen again, the pair must work together to get to the truth - and, possibly, each other. A Gray Matter fanfic.


A loud crunching noise, followed by the telltale sound of metallic screeching, permeated the still morning air of Dread Hill House. Hunched over a little mechanical contraption, Sam Everett's eyes widened in surprise as sparks flew from the object, just narrowly avoiding her face. She hurriedly shuffled backwards, trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and the now profusely smoking mechanism, cursing her decision to make a magic tool by herself.

To be fair, it wasn't as though Sam had much of a choice. Sure, technology had come a long way, and plenty of magic items of wonder were available for purchase - but when you dream as big as Sam does, things need a special, custom touch. Besides, no mere parlour trick would suffice for Daedalus Club membership. Unfortunately, Sam had never quite been an expert engineer, and the tidbits of knowledge she had picked up on the subject were far from sufficient to allow her to say, with certainty, that she knew what she was doing.

And that's how she wound up here, coughing and hacking as she waved her hands in front of her face, a fruitless attempt to clear the dark grey smoke from the air. It was a good thing she was working in the garage and not in her room - though, admittedly, the only reason she stopped doing magic experiments in her room was because Mrs Dalton had very sternly told her that enough was enough.

In front of her, the small machine Sam had been working on gave a final whirring clank, but in its dying breath, it managed to squeeze out just a few more wisps of opaque pollution. "Dammit!" Sam hissed to herself. It was her third failed attempt that week, and this had been the worst one yet. She rushed out of the garage to fill her lungs with open, non-burnt air - and to clear her head.

The air was rather cold this morning in the quiet outskirts of Oxford. She glanced up at the looming tower to her left, still silent and empty, and shuddered involuntarily. She'd always been a very rational person, but since she found out that magic is real - and, incidentally, that ghosts are real too - she often found herself a little more wary of eerie-looking locations.

Sam's phone buzzed in her pocket, and she whipped it out to check it. It was a text from Mrs Dalton, saying that she was needed back at the house as soon as possible. Sighing, she repocketed the phone and began the short trudge back indoors. Dread Hill House loomed up ahead, as gloomy as ever, curtains drawn over windows protectively, deadly silent apart from the crunch of gravel under Sam's feet.

It had been just a little over a year since Sam began working with the mysterious and enigmatic Dr. Styles. In all that time, she was a little disheartened to note that not much had changed. Sure, the temperamental, intelligent neurobiologist was less snappish, but to call him agreeable would be a stretch. He was still secretive and withdrawn, barely speaking to Sam unless he was giving her instructions.

There were times when Sam saw the mask - well, the figurative mask, anyway - come down, if only for a fleeting moment. He would let out a rare chuckle at something she said, or would be more open in conversation, answering Sam's queries in an almost bright tone, and even asking her some of his own. But then the mask would - figuratively - come back on again, conversation would abruptly stop, and nothing Sam did would coax him back to comfort.

"You mustn't worry so much about it, dear," Mrs Dalton told her one day, after she'd aired her frustrations. "That's just how he is. It's not personal, I'm sure."

Well, it certainly felt personal. David was perfectly nice to Mrs Dalton, and even to the other members of the Lambs Club, who still came by to visit once in a while. Maybe he didn't go out of his way to be kind or accommodating, but he was certainly never terse with them - just with Sam.

Maybe it was because he and Sam shared a more professional relationship? Because he paid her to be there, did he feel the need to be less friendly? Or was it that he had never really forgiven her for lying to him about who she was? Sam hated the very thought of that. On one hand, she couldn't blame him. A relationship of any kind, even a working one, founded on deception surely had limited mileage. But, then again, hadn't she gone above and beyond to prove herself to him since then?

Sam pushed open the main door to the house and stepped into the foyer. Houdini hopped merrily down the stairs to greet her. He had a knack for getting out of places he didn't want to be, and she had long stopped trying to keep him confined to his cage. Even David had stopped complaining about it, even if he muttered to himself about the annoyance of "little white pests" every now and then.

"There you are. Finally."

Sam looked up to see David glaring at her from the door to the basement, dressed in his usual crisp white shirt, tucked into a pair of grey slacks. She often wondered if he just owned multiple sets of the same outfits, but he looked so good in them that she would never dream of complaining about it, even to herself.

He looked as grumpy as always. Would it kill the man to not look so sour all the time? Maybe he knew that it didn't detract from his looks at all to wear a constant expression of discontent. In fact, sometimes Sam thought he looked dashing when he was serious like this. It was a thought she always had to wave away.

"What did I hire you for if you're never around?" David said. This was a statement that Sam had heard again and again in her time here, but these days, it sounded less scathing. She might be getting too used to it.

"I thought you bought me this phone to solve that problem. And that's what it does. I'm here, right?" Sam shot back.

"Grateful as ever, I see," David replied, not missing a beat. Sam thought she caught half a smile on his lips before he turned away abruptly. "Come to the lab, I have some errands I need you to run."

Sam followed David down the stairs. The brilliant neurobiologist hadn't exactly reintegrated into society since the whole Angela-pretending-to-be-Laura incident of last year. He left the house a tiny bit more often, and he was working on a new research paper, but other than that, things were mostly the same.

David led the way into the main laboratory. He hadn't been inside his private lab for a while - at least, not when Sam was awake. He used to spend virtually all day in there. Sam's curiosity about what secrets lay within it had never quite died away, but she had to suppress her urge to snoop in favour of earning as much of David's trust as she could. And it would also be pretty shitty of her to snoop at all, and she had to be a decent human being at least sometimes.

Sam stopped in her tracks as she entered the main lab area. She hadn't been in here for about a week, and since then piles and piles of paper and books had accumulated across every surface. David was usually a pretty neat person, and his idea of cluttered was often Sam's idea of tidy, so this was very out of character.

If David noticed her shock at the disarray, he didn't mention it. "I need you to go to the Bodleian Library and print out some archived documents for me." He tore a piece of paper from a notebook and handed it to her. His fingers brushed hers briefly as Sam took it from him, and she couldn't help the warmth she felt at the contact.

"You know they only let students in there, right?" Sam said.

"I also know that you are unlikely to have thrown away your fake ID," David responded. "And, failing that, you have many friends there."

"Four isn't usually considered 'many' friends."

"Then it's a good thing you haven't gotten rid of that ID." David flipped through his appointment book before looking up at her. His warm brown gaze was sharp and unwavering - so much so that Sam felt compelled to look away. "I also need you to drop by Oxford Town Centre and pick up some items from a hardware store for me. I need to double check a few things first, so I'll text you a list by the end of the hour. I need them by evening."

"Right. Got it." Sam fiddled with the piece of paper in her hand. That should leave enough time for her to drop by the Black Wand and ask Mephistopheles for some advice about her machine.

"What's wrong?" David snapped. Sam jumped, her eyes flitting upwards to meet his. He looked annoyed, as was to be expected, and Sam realized that he must have noticed the flush rising to her cheeks, still there from their short moment of unintended physical contact several minutes ago.

"Nothing," Sam said hastily. "Just feeling a little… weird. Yeah."

David's eyes seemed to soften slightly, but his expression remained irritated. "How has your progress been on your magic club nonsense?"

He'd never shown much of an interest in her attempts to get into the Daedelus Club. Sam hoped the surprise wasn't too apparent on her face. "Going nowhere, actually," she told him. "I may have messed up another one of my machines."

"Is that what has you so, as you put it, weird?"

"Nah, I'm weird all the time." Sam tried for a mischievous grin, but it felt pretty unconvincing.

"Yes, I've noticed."

An awkward silence stretched between them. Well, awkward to Sam, at least. David didn't seem to sense the tension - he was already pouring over some diagrams.

"I'll figure it out sooner or later," Sam said, trying to ward off her discomfort.

"Yes, I suppose you shall," said David. "Though you could have just kept your membership the first time around."

"They only offered me a membership because they thought I was running a game," Sam reminded him - not that he needed the reminder. "It wasn't _me_ they wanted."

"No," David agreed. "You want to get in on your own merit. A respectable decision."

The flush was creeping back to Sam's face. David's compliments were rare, but that meant they were as genuine as could be. "I - thanks," she said.

There was another moment of silence. This time, before Sam could think of something to say, David broke it. "Well? What are you still standing around here for? Off you go!"

"Geez, alright, alright!" Sam exclaimed, backing out of the room - but not before she stole a glance at the diagrams he was wrapped up in. They all depicted brains and were labelled with long, fancy scientific terms that Sam couldn't register in the brief seconds she had to look at them. She wanted to pause to look through the mess strewn about the lab, but she had a feeling David would catch on quickly, so she hurried off.

Once back in the foyer, Sam read through the list of archived documents she needed to retrieve. Mostly boring stuff about neurology and neurobiology with pretentious-sounding titles. There was one, though, that caught her attention - a paper about paranormal experiences. She wondered what he needed that one for, but her days of playing detective were over. She wasn't going to try and puzzle out his need for unusual academic sources. Or, at least, she'd do her best not to.

* * *

Sam's trusty old motorcycle - once barely functional - got her to the library in record time. Her fake ID still worked, she was glad to note, as she pushed her way through the turnstiles and into the room.

"Sam!"

A single hushed whisper-shout reached Sam's ears, and she turned to see none other than Helena herself waving to her from a table near the entrance. She approached the blue-eyed woman curiously.

"Helena! What are you doing here?" Sam asked. "I don't see Charles around."

"Oh, that mama's boy," Helena huffed. "I've moved _on_, Sam, darling. Do keep up."

"He wasn't interested in you, huh?" Sam grinned.

Helena scowled, her red-painted lips turning down at the corners. "A girl like me isn't used to rejection."

Sam believed her. Helena was objectively gorgeous, after all, and she was very aware of her own beauty. Since spending more time with her, Sam had found out just how much the sly fox used her looks to her advantage. She was actually very smart for someone so sheltered, and for someone who detested intellectual pursuits so much.

"So you're here to scope out a new guy?"

Helena's scowl didn't disappear. "No, I have… assignments." She motioned to a stack of textbooks and reference books in front of her.

"Helena Beaugard, at a library, willingly, with no ulterior motives? I never thought I'd see the day." Sam took a seat across her and chuckled.

Helena shook her head. "I wouldn't say willingly. But why are you here?"

"I'm running some errands for Da - Dr. Styles," Sam replied. "He wants some archived papers. You know, boring stuff."

"Mm, yes, how _is_ David these days?" Helena said.

Sam detected a hint of mischief in her tone. "Same as ever. Locked up in his lab, doing experiments, being a giant jerk. You could always stop by and see for yourself."

"But you still work for this giant jerk." There was no mistaking the twinkle in Helena's eyes now.

Sam tried not to get defensive. "He pays me well. And it's a great house. And it's not like I have anywhere else to go."

"The lady doth protest too much." Helena had now completely abandoned her textbooks, focusing entirely on Sam. "You can tell me these things, Sam. We're friends, are we not?"

"Tell you _what_ things?"

"Juicy things," Helena replied.

"What?"

"About you and David."

"You've lost me."

"Ugh!" Helena rolled her eyes and grabbed a book from her pile. "You're impossible."

"Right." Sam stood up. "I'm going to go get those files now. I'll text you later or something."

Helena made a sound of acknowledgement, sounding disgruntled. Sam knew she wasn't convinced, and that she knew she had been playing dumb. But really, it wasn't any of her business, and Sam didn't really think there was much to talk about. She knew how it looked that she was still working for David. She knew her admiration of the man could give some people the wrong idea. But that's all it was - the wrong idea. Besides, who wouldn't admire the great Dr. David Styles - intelligent, talented, open-minded, and handsome. And the whole stoic, brooding thing definitely just made him more attractive.

Sam made her way to a computer and pulled the piece of paper from David out of her pocket. It was badly crumpled now, but thankfully, the words were still legible. She ran her hand down the crinkles, trying to smooth them over. Some of the ink had smeared, probably from when she haphazardly stuck it in her pocket. His writing was very neat for someone who always seemed to be in a rush. If only he slowed down sometimes. Talked to her a little, or had a meal with her, just for an evening.

No, this was ridiculous. What was she thinking? The man was _busy_, that's all. Besides, she was just his assistant. She wasn't special to him, she was just doing her job. Why should she want any of his time, or be in a position to ask for it? The very thought was ridiculous.

Yet, when Sam thought of the man, she felt… warm. But she didn't have _feelings_ for him, surely. At least, not the way Helena thought. She _liked_ him, but it was only natural for someone to grow to like the people they work with, right? She wanted to spend time with him, but that was just because it got a little lonely in that huge house. And she wanted to really get to know him, but he was asking for it, with how secretive he was. And sometimes when he looked at her she felt funny inside, but that was… that was just…

Sam forced herself to stop thinking about this. She had errands to run. Besides, David was grieving the loss of his soulmate, and had been for years. Even if she had a crush on him like some teenager, he would never be interested in dating again - and certainly not someone like her. Calming herself down, Sam turned her attention to the computer and got to work.


End file.
